


Tale As Old As Time

by numbateme



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ancient History, Angst, Crime, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Founders - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mystery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25283950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/numbateme/pseuds/numbateme
Summary: The Legend, tune as old as song, goes that Godric Gryffindor and Salazar Slytherin were best of chums but history books refuse to acknowledge this.Draco Malfoy uncharacteristically invited Harry Potter on a winding adventure on discovering the mystery behind two of the founders of Hogwarts, uncovering secrets and plots, of ghosts and Animagus, of betrayal and hatred, and of love and family.Malfoy and Harry are about to uncover century's worth mystery and, along the way, they uncover much more about themselves.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	1. Fabulae Historiam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as amy from brooklyn nine-nine famously said that latin is just taking a long nap and is not a dead language. the title loosely translates to: legends of history

_When the sun shines on you, you're a fool to turn away.  
_   
**_~ How To Get Away With Murder, Season 6 Finale_ **

* * *

Draco Malfoy's mother always told him to observe closely at those who stood on the edge.

If they looked up, they were looking at their future, if they looked down, they were looking at their past. He never did quite understand her cryptic words, not just this one, but then again, it was how she always spoke.

Draco got an inkling that he was not meant to have found Harry Potter on the edge of the Astronomy Tower looking sightlessly before him. It was Malfoy's space, the one place he found peace of mind and was now rather occupied by The Boy Who Lived… Twice. Taking a closer look, he found Harry's head bowed and his hands lightly trembling on his lap. He briefly wondered if he was crying. He murmured the spell _Auris Adhibeo_ , his ears automatically sharpening their hearing skills, and confirmed to himself that he was not crying.

Every fiber and magic in his being pulled him towards Harry – as it always did – but his logic, the Slytherin logic, ordered him to walk away and not think about what he was witnessing. To be smart and walk away. He cursed under his breath and stepped away from the shadows.

Harry jolted and sprung to his feet. A shiny orange marble rolled on the ground and stopped before his black shoes. He whipped out his wand and pointed it between Malfoy's eyes, 12 curses on the tip of his tongue all varying degrees of bone-crushing capabilities.

"What are you doing here Malfoy?"

Malfoy's hands were up in a surrender motion, his chest moving up and down fast. "No-nothing."

"Come off it, Malfoy. You expect me to believe that?"

"If you must know I come to watch the stars."

Harry frowned. "Stars?"

"Yes, the ones found in the sky, Potter."

Harry tightened his grip on his wand. "What you looking at stars for at this late hour?"

"They're unfortunately not around during the day," he drawled.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Why do I get the feeling you're lying?"

"Well, sometimes stars do appear during the day but mostly they're better appreciated during the night."

Harry cursed under his breath and dropped his wand. "Can't deal with this bullshit right now."

Harry plopped himself back on the edge of the Tower, this time seemingly removing a pen and paper out of thin air. Malfoy sat down as well, about a meter or three between them, and stretched his head back.

"You can see the whole world from here," said Malfoy conversationally. He ignored the gnawing voice chiding him for sharing with Potter. "The stars will always have a home for you, Mother always said."

Harry scribbled down on his brownish parchment, the scribbling would be intense as if jotting down words and adverbs and adjectives before they disappeared from his brain and then slow down the next minute as if finding the right word, the right simile to make whatever he was writing perfect.

Malfoy wondered if the letter was for Weasley or Granger.

"What did she, like, mean by that?"

"In Fourth Year when I went home for Christmas, Mother and I would spend a lot of time looking up at the stars. She would narrate to me of Canis Major, her personal favorite, or even Cygnus who was Aquila, a little bit about the history Castor and Pollux and now, every time I look up at the stars, I find…" _peace_ , he ended in his mind. He did not want to admit that to Potter, something about it being very dear to his heart. It was true, however, as the last time he ever had peace in his life was when he was 14 years old.

"Find what?"

"Serenity."

Harry frowned at him briefly before looking up at the stars, attempting to find said serenity. He did not know what he was looking at or for, and perhaps it was because nobody ever told him beautiful starry mythical stories, as all he saw currently were white dots on a black canvas. His eyes dropped and he looked below to the green grass on the large fields of Hogwarts.

"Is that why you do Arithmancy?"

"Astronomy."

"What?"

"It's Astronomy, not Arithmancy."

"Oh. So, is that why you take it?"

Malfoy snorted. "Please, that's a stupid course."

"You still take it. And Hermione says that you always get O's."

Malfoy smirked. "I learned a lot from Mother about it so everything Professor Sinistra teaches I know. It's a free pass for my NEWTS if I'm being honest. Like how DADA is for you."

Harry nodded in understanding. He did not mean to brag but Defense Against the Dark Arts was a bore to him as all that was taught in class, he learned in the one year he was trying not to die. It was widely known he was going to get an O in his NEWTS for it.

How they got on the topic of school subjects Malfoy could not begin to comprehend but here they were and Malfoy was making it his personal mission to get Potter to forget about the letter he was drafting in his hand. His heavy, heavy letter that seemed to be much more than simply a summary of his start to Eighth Year.

"Taking Astronomy balances my abysmally low grades for Ancient Runes."

"If you are anything like Hermione, which you are, Malfoy, your version of terrible grades is P which honestly isn't so bad."

Malfoy's eyes nearly dropped out of his sockets. "Poor? Poor, Potter? When did you ever get a P?"

"You ever took Divination before?" he laughed depreciatively.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Trelawney is permanently out of her marbles. That woman was batshit crazy. So glad I dropped it after my OWLS."

"What your lowest grade?"

"Acceptable. Muggle Studies."

Harry chuckled to himself. Of course, Malfoy failed in Muggle Studies, duh. Of course, he failed the one subject that involved non-wizarding persons because growing up as a Pureblood seemed to be in one's DNA to despite those who _did not belong_ , as Purebloods often held.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes but pressed no further. Instead, he asked, "What's your highest grade in a subject apart from DADA?"

"History of Magic."

Malfoy raised his eyebrows at him as his mouth fell. He quickly schooled his expression remembering that gaping was very _un_ Mafloy-like.

Harry chuckled lightly. "I didn't grow up in your world, the wizarding world so it's very interesting to me. Plus, it's taught by a ghost, like, how cool is that?"

"Professor Binns is a downright bore. I'd exchange him for Trelawney in a heartbeat."

"You grew up in this wizarding world, better yet you're a Pureblood, so everything that's being taught it's, like, ingrained in you."

Malfoy never saw it that way, if he was being honest. He supposed being taught by a ghost that died in the 1920s was somewhat of a wonder but as Potter said, it was only because he grew up in the wizarding world and already knew what Professor Binns taught. Most probably had the entire curriculum drilled into his brain long before the Hogwarts letter arrived by owl.

This was partially true as before the arrival of his Hogwarts letter he had been taught by a private tutor, under the strict supervision of his father, of the history of Pureblood – which did include a lot about History of Magic in its generality.

"Any other subject?"

"The rest I manage," he answered. "Getting EE and A is not a fail to me and sometimes I don't care so much about getting P even if it's in, like, Arithmancy or Charms."

Malfoy frowned. Why would getting a P not bother him? Why did he not care as much as he would? Malfoy spotted the letter in his hand, unfinished mid-sentence and he turned his head, looking up at the blinking stars. If he ever did get anything below EE his father would throw him out of the Manor without a second thought. Or better yet he would slam a _Crucio_ curse unto him as he did in Third Year when Granger emerged top in his year all because he had an A in Herbology whereas Granger had an EE.

"I quite like Ancient Runes," he said conversationally. He thanked Merlin that Potter was in the state he was in so as not to comment on his weird conversation skills or lack thereof, but Malfoy was desperate as he did not want Potter to finish writing his lengthy letter that was upsettingly getting closer to what seemed like a conclusion.

"Why? It's all ancient… stuff."

"Just like History of Magic but without the long, dull lectures."

"That's one way of putting it but it is still about, like, theoretical stuff, right?"

"True, but learning about runic scripts is much more fun than, say, the First Goblin Rebellion of 1612."

Harry chuckled out of his own accord. "Hey, they were angry that they were being treated differently. A revolution had to happen."

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "We learned something interesting last week in Ancient Runes."

Harry turned to face him and tilted his head. Malfoy did the same and a shiver ran down his spine. Looking at him, properly looking at him with the dark circles under his eyes, his hunched back, his hair falling lifelessly over his forehead, his green eyes not so bright anymore, like dim candlelight about to fade into the darkness… he was the shell of a man that could never be his best anymore.

The eyes of a man whose soul had vanished. He knew those eyes, he had seen them in his Father before he was shipped off to Azkaban.

"Do you know about the Salazar Slytherin legend?"

"He was one of the four founding fathers of Hogwarts?" he answered him, phrasing it as a question. Malfoy made no comment about it.

"Yes, but that's not a legend."

"There's a legend?"

Malfoy nodded. "It's not really talked about, I don't know why but I think mainly because it's a Salazar legend and," he lightly shrugged, "not many people care about him, not after his sullied reputation."

"What's the legend about?"

"What we allegedly know about Godric and Salazar's friendship is false," Malfoy stated, looking at him. "According to the tale as old as time, Salazar and Godric were indeed friends and while they did have obvious differences – such as recruiting Muggleborns into Hogwarts – their friendship remained. It continues that Rowena and Helga were jealous of this friendship and manipulated Godric into believing that Salazar was an evil wizard who built the Chamber of Secrets to secretly purge any and all Muggleborns in Hogwarts."

"Was that not true? Didn't he kill Muggleborns?"

Malfoy shook his head right to left. "Yes and no. Yes, because that is the legend and no, because there is no proof."

"Slytherins hating on anyone who isn't a Pureblood is proof enough."

"No physical proof, Potter. Can I proceed?"

"Yeah, yeah. What happened next?"

"Before he died, Godric wrote a letter to his best friend that he forgave him for all that he did, for purging Muggleborns in the Chamber of Secrets and his last request was that when Salazar died, they are buried together wherever he wished as proof of his loyalty."

"Loyalty?"

"Very Slytherin of Godric if you ask me."

"Did he get his wish?"

"This is where the legend gets hazy and vague," Malfoy said. "One, there is little to no accounts of where Salazar has been buried – only that he has been buried somewhere in Slytherin dungeons. Two, while everyone does believe that Salazar did purge Muggleborns in the Chamber of Secrets there are tales that it was not Salazar but someone else who killed Muggleborns." Harry gasped loudly. "Third, according to several accounts, back in the day the Bloody Baron was heard saying that Godric and Salazar were never buried together and that the ghosts of the two founding fathers forever roam the Hogwarts corridors looking for each other."

"How does nobody know where Godric has been buried? How does a detail like that simply get lost in the history books?"

Malfoy smirked. "It's a legend after all."

"You don't sound so sure."

" _I_ believe what I believe but that doesn't mean the legend is true or false."

After a moment of silence. "I believe you. I think something went wrong."

Malfoy's eyebrows scrunched together as he said, "I do, too."

"Do you have any theories about where to even begin finding bodies of legends?"

In a moment of surprise and shock, Malfoy saw Harry fold up his paper and pocket it, along with his pen. He turned to Malfoy and cocked his head, waiting for his answer.

"Uhh…" he stuttered eloquently then breathed in and out. "I need to do more research on the history of the founding fathers, finding more about the friendship between Godric and Salazar, whathaveyou."

"Why?"

"It's a starting point, Potter."

"No, why do you want to find out about the legend? Why bother at all?"

"The dead deserve to rest in peace, don't they? Imagine after all these hundreds and hundreds of years, neither Salazar nor Godric have found any rest because neither of their wishes was fulfilled. And their history erased from history books because someone along the line deemed Salazar unworthy to be mentioned nor respected Godric's wishes because of Salazar's history."

Malfoy bit down on his tongue, feeling his anger seeping into his words. He was not angry per se at the prospect of Godric and Salazar but at his mother never having a moment to say goodbye to her husband.

One morning, Aurors stormed to the Manor demanding the head of one Lucius Abraxas Malfoy which the Minister of Magic personally came to collect, as if he were an object at an auction. Lucius was thrown into Azkaban without a second thought and was left to rot. Malfoy never once visited his father, never accompanied his mother on her bi-weekly visits accompanied by five Aurors not even on her last visit when she found her husband lifeless, alone and cold.

He was under no illusion that his father was the worst kind of human being, do not get him wrong. He deserved everything that ever came to him, including Azkaban. But regardless, Lucius was still his father, always was, always will be, and no matter what his mother deserved a moment to say goodbye for his father. She deserved to bury her husband but Minister Kingsley Shacklebolt refused, letting his body rot and wither away in Azkaban until the end of time.

"Perhaps one day the Battle of Hogwarts will also be forgotten in, like, thousands of years to come. We will only be a sentence in the history books and, like, that's it. Maybe that's all we live for."

Malfoy hummed. "Sounds like Shakespeare."

"How'd you know Shakespeare?"

"Blaise takes Muggle Studies. He quite likes the playwright and often ends up quoting him. Anyway, I can't remember but Shakespeare said something about humans and their small swift life before they are extinguished like a candle flame."

"Yeah, something of the sort." Harry had heard of it and made a note to ask Hermione about the quote later on. "Can—Do you need help?"

Malfoy stared at him, unsure if he had heard correctly or if his ears were tricking him. He wordlessly cast a wandless _Ausculto_ and asked Potter to repeat himself. He asked the same question therefore his ears were working fine.

"You don't have to say yes, like, I was just thinking if you wanted some help. Which you may, like, not need but it's there. It's being offered. By me. Like. Um. I am offering my help… if you need it. Erm. Help. That is from me—"

"Potter, stop your word vomiting now."

Harry clamped his mouth shut but his eyes did not leave Malfoy's sparkling silver ones.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yes."

"Really?"

"I just said okay."

"I didn't think you'd agree."

"I didn't think you'd be interested."

"Anything for Godric, right?" he teased. And in a way for Salazar for Harry was once almost in his House but he was not about to confess that detail to Malfoy.

Harry turned back and, for the second time in the night, looked up at the night skies. It was full of bright stars, blinking happily and a full moon that reminding him of Lupin. He smiled small at the sight of the moonlight, smiled at the sight of the stars. For the second time since his arrival at Hogwarts, he did not look down at the grass but kept his eyes up at the starry night.

Malfoy blinked at the stars thanking them that he even had a chance to look at them, silently thanking the boy sat beside him for speaking on his behalf at Wizengamot and coming out scot-free. He could have been living a very, very different life right now, one that did not include the freedom to watch the stars, one that was eerily identical to his father's.

If they were watching, wherever they were, both Godric and Salazar could see themselves in both Harry and Malfoy, and wherever they were, they knew their history was about to be written right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii this is my first drarry fic and i kind wanted to play with the history of the OG characters & ran with this idea lol.  
> kudos & comments - even the random ones, too - will be HIGH LOVED as i love to read what y'all think of it haha (: (idk why i'm laughing tbh)
> 
> now y'all take care x


	2. Expecto Patronum

Apprenticeship routinely began in Fifth Year where students were to choose a profession they wanted to pursue upon graduation from Hogwarts. Students are given counseling and attend workshops at that time so that they may make informed decisions in regards to their NEWT subjects that are to be selected in the following year.

Harry remembered eagerly choosing to be an Auror, he simply wanted nothing else. He had it all envisioned and planned down to the last T, with the help of his mentor Albus Dumbledore, the then-Head of Gryffindor. He was going to be an Auror and needed to have passed at least five NEWTS to be qualified. He was going to go into training with Ron Weasley by his side, thereafter graduate from Auror training after three years, and rise the ladder to be Head Auror. Additionally, he was going to marry Ginny once he became Junior Auror (while she played professional Quidditch), have three children, and live the rest of his life happily ever after.

Now? He had no idea.

Harry idly turned a page of _The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus_ briefly looking down at the contents of the page. Why he still took Divination was beyond him and blinked once more at the page.

See, he was meant to have died when he willingly walked himself to Voldemort. He was not meant to have survived, hell, even Dumbledore himself predicted that he was going to die. Yet he did not. He was alive, first thanks to his mom, Lily Potter, and second thanks to Malfoy's mother, Narcissa Malfoy.

For someone who grew up without a mother, they sure flooded his life a lot.

Harry flipped another page of his textbook just as Luna Lovegood flipped hers.

He no longer wanted to be an Auror, something he was going to have to tell Ron and Hermione, and since his life was largely based on him being an Auror he never had a reason to look beyond Auror prospects and now that he was given a chance, a second chance, he simply had no idea. He did not want to fight anymore, that was for sure.

Perhaps looking into crystal balls would be something, he lightly mused. For a flash second, he pictured Malfoy rolling his eyes at the suggestion that his future career involved looking deeply into foggy crystal balls.

He had a free period after lunch and that was when he was having his first meeting with Professor McGonagall, his Head of House, and the Professor assigned to talk to Gryffindor Eighth Years about their Apprenticeship. Instead of heading up to the ninth floor to her office, he stopped on the seventh floor of the castle and headed for the Room of Requirement.

He walked before the brick wall three times and a large, brass door slowly appeared replacing the cold, stone walls. He supposed after the Fiendfyre incident that the Room was gone, vanished and vanquished by the roaring blaze but he had wanted a free space, somewhere alone and quiet and he tried walking before the wall, three times like he always did and expecting nothing to appear, a door magically appeared.

He had been careful when opening it, his wand at the ready to protect himself against whatever was going to come out from the door but alas, no such thing came at him. Instead, as he walked into the room and the door quietly shutting behind him, he was met with a massive state-of-the-art kitchen.

Ever since he was young, Harry loved cooking. From the moment he could walk, he was handed a spatula, pan, and apron and instructed to cook three square meals daily. Thereafter it never left his system. During his Hogwarts years, he would cook to ease his stress. During OWLS, he would cook up a storm at The Burrow and Molly going ahead and teaching him numerous cooking charms and spells that made a world of a difference. He tried, however, as much as possible to use the least amount of magic in cooking; there was something about Muggle cooking that made food taste better.

Currently, he was on a pasta kick right now. He was finding plenty of ways to cook pasta such as Pasta Pomodoro, Garlic Mushroom pasta, Pesto pasta, Creamy Sweet Corn Pappardelle, and of course, the classic Spaghetti Bolognese and yet he was finding new ways to cook the dish. He had told neither Ron nor Hermione about it, most certainly not Ginny, as they would not understand. Cooking was decidedly a Muggle hobby and was even downgraded to mostly for home-based witches in the wizarding world. Also, imagining The Saviour preferring to cook homemade macaroni & cheese instead of fighting against the bad guys as an Auror would not be met well by the wizarding world in general. Nevermind what Rita Skeeter would even _think_ of it.

Today he was experimenting by making lasagna. He had baked lasagna back in Fifth Year but that was the last time. He finally had the chance after having envisioned the best oven model in his mind to be incorporated into the Room of Requirement. Luckily it was, a large silver-grey oven ready for use.

He went about gathering his ingredients for his veggie lasagna in the pantry to his far left, the vegetables, marinara sauce, lasagna noodles, and, oh sweet Merlin, do not forget the ricotta _and_ Parmesan cheese. He added Parmesan cheese to everything it was honestly a crime that they did not have the product here in Hogwarts.

He cast a _Tempus_ to check the time – 1:49 PM – and mentally calculated for 40 minutes for his lasagna to be ready. In the meantime he cleared out his area, throwing out his trash, putting back his ingredients, spices, and dry cereals to where they belong.

As he waited for his dish to be ready, he found his mind wandering to the conversation he had with Malfoy up on the Astronomy Tower a week ago. It was odd, the whole experience, almost surreal. They had not hexed each other, they had not insulted each other Malfoy had been, dare he say, civil. Calm.

It was strange.

What was stranger was that he found himself not at all creeped out by Malfoy's presence nor by his conversation. It was an odd thing to talk about their favorite subjects, about their grades but it beat having conversations about one's future which he sure did not think he would have.

Malfoy had found him writing a letter – a goodbye letter – to his adopted mom, Molly Weasley. He was thanking her deeply for including him in her family, for welcoming him with open arms and treating him like one of her children, like he was part of the family. He thanked her for a lot of other things but lately he had not been feeling well. He was _not feeling_ for lack of a better phrase.

The oven pinged, indicating that his pasta was ready. He removed his baking tray onto the kitchen marble island, letting it cool down for a few minutes before he dug right in.

He would find himself in the common area chatting with Ron, Neville Longbottom, and Dean Thomas about next year's Quidditch World Cup, blink, and he would be in the Great Hall with everyone, enjoying their meals. He would blink one more time and find Professor Flitwick jotting something up on the board in his Charms class, blink and he would be up on the Astronomy Tower contemplating a world where Harry Potter ceased to exist.

Hermione noticed, he knew that she knew something was off about him, but anytime she looked his way with her pitiful eyes he would look away or engage in conversation to avoid her. When she was about to ask if _are you okay, Harry?_ he would swallow, look away, talk to someone nearby, or deliberately change the topic by asking her about her Apprenticeship which she was too eager to talk about. In a lengthy conversation that lasted over an hour, he learned she was going to work in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and thereafter become the Minister of Magic through a thoroughly detailed and itemized six-year plan.

Harry stood up after scraping his plate clean, and after cleaning up, walked out of the Room and wandered off into the cold, eerie corridors of Hogwarts.

Oddly, too, in his weird daze, he would often wander through the corridors of Hogwarts, finding himself in areas he had never visited before. Such as yesterday he found himself on the 11th floor, left disconcertingly empty corridor. He walked down the corridor, sans wand in his hand (after having lived twice he found himself not finding the hustle and bustle of protection seeing as he always came out alive, regardless), and, well, not much actually. He was simply wandering…

… until a ghost burst through the floor and he came to a staggering halt. His heart was beating rapidly against his chest as he came to a standstill before a man that was short, stout, dressed in grey monastery clothing, and holding a rather large mug floated before him. His appearance looked familiar and his name was on the tip of his tongue.

"Harry Potter!" The ghost raised his mug in the air. "So glad to have bumped into you. Hope I didn't frighten you."

"N-no," Harry stuttered. "Not at all."

"That's fantastic. It is class time, however, what are you doing out and about on the 11th floor?"

"I'm sorry, but are you Edgar Cloggs?"

"Oh no, my dear, that would be the Quidditch man. I am The Fat Friar, Hufflepuff House Ghost."

"Like Nearly Headless Nick," said Harry, patting himself on the back though another part of him should have known the other House ghosts not simply that of his own House.

"Ah, Sir Nicholas, it's been a minute."

Harry sat down on the floor, leaning his back against the wall.

Fat Friar floated nearby. "Are you hiding, son?"

"You could say that."

Fat Friar expression hardened for just a second before turning into that of a joyful demeanor. Harry had heard of Fat Friar before, a wizard born a long time ago in the 980s, sorted into Hufflepuff and was taught by Helga Hufflepuff, one of the founders of the school. He joined the clergy – hence his monastery clothing – where he allegedly could cure the pox and was able to pull rabbits out of a cup. He recalled in his Fifth Year History of Magic class, Professor Binns teaching them that Fat Friar's kindness killed him in the end as he was murdered by his own churchmen.

"May I ask you a question?" he asked.

Fat Friar nodded eagerly, his joyful demeanor something that Harry was increasingly aware was his default.

"Do you know about the Godric and Salazar legend?"

"Why of course I do! We all know about the legend! It's an impressive one if you ask me."

"Yeah? What's it about?"

Fat Friar's smile dropped before quickly offering a small smile. "I'm not so sure I'm allowed to speak on it. It's all hush hush around here."

"I heard that Godric had requested to be buried with his best friend but, like, that never happened."

Fat Friar nodded. "They were the best of friends, those two. Tied at the hip. They got on like a house on fire."

"Oh yeah?"

"They agreed on everything. Well, apart from the Muggleborns situation, they agreed on everything else. Some were jealous of their friendship, you could say, some wishing them ill intent but nothing Salazar could not fix, you know? Nothing Godric could not forgive."

"Forgive?"

Fat Friar twirled twice hovering higher above the floor. "We all deserve forgiveness – even if Sir Nicholas and Baron disapprove."

"Why would Godric forgive Salazar? Was it because of, like, the Chamber of Secrets?"

Fat Friar seemed confused at first, his eyes questioning before he floated down below the ground and only half his body was visible. "I don't think it had anything to do with the Chamber. We all knew, mind, but I am almost positive that Salazar did not outright purge Muggleborns."

"He did not like them and history says that he did murder them."

"History says?" Fat Friar joyfully laughed. "History says a lot of things, son, and usually the victor writes the history, not the loser. Unfortunately, Slytherin house did not get it's redeeming arc, even after all these years, it still has not."

"Do you know why the two founding fathers had a falling out?"

Fat Friar popped out of the ground and floated. "Who knows. I never found out. I think Baron knows but mum's the word about that. It's a legend after all. A true one. Sad that nobody talks about it." The ghost spun around. "Must be the vagueness surrounding it."

Malfoy was onto something, it seemed. He had doubted him, wondering if Malfoy was going a little crazy after everything that had happened to him since Sixth Year and was only humoring him. However, with his conversation with Fat Friar and a comment about Salazar's relationship with the other founders of Hogwarts during History of Magic class yesterday, Harry was growingly interested in finding out more. It would give him something to focus on, something to distract him from, well, his life.

He stayed and chatted with Fat Friar, asking him about his Healer abilities. It was calming talking to him, his joyful and cheery outlook on life despite how life turned out for him, was slowly rubbing off on him. With the night sky up high, he had already skipped the Great Hall dinner time and when it was nearing 1 a.m., he headed towards the Astronomy Tower.

"Malfoy?"

The blond turned his head and raised an eyebrow. "You're alive."

"Of course I am. Why would I not be?"

"You weren't in Potions, Transfiguration nor at dinner."

"Stalking me again?" he asked as he sat down about a meter or two away from the boy.

Malfoy snorted and reminded him, "Sixth year, Potter. Sixth year."

"Did I miss anything in Potions?"

"Professor Slughorn reminded all of us to write down three different fields we are interested in for our Apprenticeship. I think the same applies to all Houses."

"I had my talk today with McGonagall."

"How'd it go?"

"Who knows, I wasn't there."

Malfoy raised both eyebrows quizzingly. "Why would you not attend?" Then before Harry could respond, he answered his question with an eye roll, "I presume the great Saviour wants to continue saving lives."

Harry let out a frustrated groan. "Stop assuming, Malfoy."

"Am I wrong?"

Harry bit down on his tongue and looked away from him. Malfoy took his silence as a response and muttered under his breath that it was no surprise he was going to be an Auror.

"What does the Almighty Draco Lucius Malfoy want to do then?"

"Potions master. I could curate potions for Healers."

Harry was impressed. That sounded positively amazing and he found himself angry that even Malfoy could figure out what do to with his life yet he had nothing.

"That's impressive, Malfoy. And you're the best in Potions so it's no surprise."

"Healer is a tough profession to pursue and succeed in as one essentially needs O's in all subjects. And with my pristine reputation," he said with disdain, "I'm not going to advance considerably in the field. That's why if I approach it at an angle of Potion-making, I can _do something_ positive for the Healing industry."

"What do you need to be a Healer?"

"Potions," Malfoy said, listing each subject with a finger. "Transfiguration, Herbology, Charms, and DADA. Herbology is going to be a pain in the ass I can tell you for sure."

"And somehow Neville seems to, like, fly through it."

"And Granger."

"She studies for it. Neville has a natural gift for it. Won't be surprised that he wants to do something in the field."

His mood dropped slightly as he painstakingly realized that everyone was moving forward, taking steps towards their future whilst Harry had his feet stuck in the sand.

"If not an Auror, then what would you like to do?"

"What?" he asked, confused.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "You expect me to believe you want to be an Auror after that performance? It looked like you'd rather swallow a whole bottle of Skele-Gro than become an Auror."

Harry opened his mouth to challenge him, deny it but Malfoy eyes bore deeply into his with a singular raised eyebrow that dared him to prove him wrong. Harry made an indignant noise and looked sightlessly before him.

"I don't know what I want to do." He swallowed thickly, quickly side glancing at Malfoy who was looking up at the stars in the sky. "I thought to be an Auror is what I wanted but after the War, like, I don't think I can do that anymore. Like, I don't have a lot of fight left in me."

In truth, he had no more fight left in him. He was hanging onto a very thin rope.

Malfoy looked away again, gazing up at the effervescent stars. "How'd you manage to cast a Patronus?"

"Patronus?" he asked. He did not want to call Malfoy out for his blatant change of subject yet again he did not want to thank him for it so he let it be.

"Yes, Potter. The Charm. Heard of it?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

"Curiosity. How do you conjure one?"

Harry held his gaze, deep green eyes boring into deep silver ones. "Remus is the one who taught me in, like, the Third Year. He said I needed to concentrate on a very happy memory."

"That's it?" Malfoy asked after Harry remained silent. He stared at him, hoping he would add more onto his words but he remained mum. "Goshawk wrote a bucket load of information about the Charm than you, Potter."

"Who's Goshawk?"

Malfoy pinched between his eyes as he muttered incoherently under his breath. "Miranda Goshawk, the witch who wrote famous Charms spell books for Hogwarts."

"What books did she write?"

" _The Standard Book of Spells_ , grades one to seven," he responded dryly. "You're being evasive."

"I don't know how else to say it," Harry admitted. "What did the author say?"

"If I remember correctly, and I do, she stated that it conjures a magical guardian that is derived from your most positive feelings." His eyes shifted from Harry to the clouds moving lazily across the sky. "It's quite difficult to produce one and many fail to produce a corporeal Patronus Charm. You'll never know its shape until you succeed in conjuring it."

He had never heard of a perfect textbook explanation of how to cast a Patronus but was grateful for receiving Remus' instructions as they were, well, less wordy. "She's right. Don't you know anyone who learned the Charm?"

"Snape, but he never got around to it. He was busy teaching me Legilimency and Dark Spells to prepare me to be a Death Eater."

Harry swallowed, not having missed the strain in Malfoy's voice. He breathed out and got to the matter at hand. "Did anyone else?"

"Generally dark wizards and witches don't try to produce Patronuses."

"Really? How come?" he asked, intrigued.

"There's an ancient story about Raczidian who attempted to cast a Patronus but instead of, you know, casting one, he was eaten alive by maggots that shot out of his wand."

Harry gawked at Malfoy in disbelief. "That's horrible!"

"The tale goes that those only of pure heart can cast a Patronus. Somehow it elucidates why my father couldn't cast one yet Snape could. It would always drive my father mad."

"I've never heard of this Racdian." It was true, not once had his name appeared in any books on the syllabus, not even in _A History of Magic_ but perhaps he would ask Professor Binns – or Hermione really, his personal walking fountain of knowledge.

"Raczidian," Malfoy absent-mindedly corrected him. "Nobody knows if he lived or not. Part of me thinks it's a cautionary tale told to ward off the dark side from casting Patronus charms."

"Can you think of any, like, singular happy memory in your entire life? Like when you and your mother would watch the stars together?"

Malfoy was visibly surprised by Harry remembering a tiny detail he had told him about a week ago. "I can try," he said after a moment, "but Goshawk said it has to be positive. Nothing but positive."

Harry, not having admitted to anyone, could cast a corporeal Patronus no more, he could not summon his stag. He tried, truly, but gathering happy, joyful memories were proving difficult lately what with the War, fighting off Voldemort, learning that Dumbledore had kept him alive simply to have him die at the opportune moment and, not forgetting his mother was in love with the slimy Snape. All these tended to push down any happy thoughts he had been keeping in storage.

"It has to be a specific moment," he repeated. "I really cannot explain further than that. Do you think, like, Salazar was able to create one?"

"I honestly doubt it. Patronus Charms are not known of their origin or creation and were only discovered way after Hogwarts was founded. I doubt either of the founders of Hogwarts had knowledge about it or could even fathom such a thing."

"Do you know who was the first?"

Malfoy leveled him with a look. "Potter, we studied this in Second Year in History of Magic. Were you not paying attention?"

"I was looking for Slytherin Prince during that time. My mind was occupied"

Malfoy pursed his lips, looking as if he were about to say something but decided against it. "I don't even want to know. Anyway, the first was Illyius."

"Doesn't sound familiar."

Malfoy sighed contentedly, leaning back against the stone wall of the Astronomy Tower, his eyes lazily looking over at the blinking stars above them. "To be honest, I don't know either but only because there's not much about him anywhere."

"Bummer."

Malfoy hummed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiyaaaaaaaaa ! we're slowly developing the plot, lol, and i think draco was done dirty when not even jk rowling let him have a patronus & literally nobody else thought, 'hey! draco should be able to cast one!' so i did haha
> 
> kudos & comments - even the random ones, too - will be HIGHLY WELCOMED as i love to read what y'all think of it (:
> 
> y'all take care x


	3. Cartomancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is long overdue -- i am sorry for that. i hit a writer's block with this and to get my block out of the way i normally (easily) write for some other fandom which then i am able to write freely for this one. so hopefully it works out 
> 
> enjoooooooy this one x

"I could eat a cow right about now!" Ron moaned happily, in between bites of sausage and muffins.

"You're always hungry, Ronald," Hermione chided. "It's a wonder where all your food goes."

"I'm a growing boy, Mione," he mumbled between bites.

Harry briefly smiled at his two best friends, swirling his fork on his copper-colored plate with a modest serving of his breakfast. He took a bite of his crunchy toast, his best friend's bickering about Ron's ever-growing appetite in the back of his mind. Like a magnet, his eyes looked across the Great Hall, passed the Ravenclaw table to the Slytherin table and down towards a certain platinum blond Slytherin. He was looking intensely at whatever Blaise Zabini was saying and a small part of Harry wondered what Zabini was commenting that had caught Malfoy's full attention.

"… Harry!"

Harry blinked and looked around him. Hermione was eyeing him worryingly while Ron had slowed down his chewing. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked how did your meeting with Professor McGona—"

"It went great," he answered and willed himself to speak slower, to not act unusually. This was a normal question yet every time she asked he found himself sweating.

"Stop pestering him, Mione," Ron chipped in with his mouth full. "I'm sure we basically got the same talk from McGonagall about Auror Apprenticeship."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Exactly. No need to pester me with any more questions."

"Have you written down your essay on why you want to be an Auror?" Hermione asked, as if not having heard Harry's sentence.

"All done," Ron said, happily.

Hermione looked doubtful. "When did you actually write it? You haven't finished your essay on the properties of Moonstone and its uses in Potion making."

Ron grimaced and Harry frowned. Did they really have an essay to write on such?

"I thought we were writing an essay on how to properly brew the Strengthening Solution?" asked Dean Thomas sat beside his best friend Seamus Finnigan.

"I thought it was on Poison Antidotes?"

"That's being covered next week," Hermione said, factually.

"Then why were we learning about Antidotes last week?" questioned Neville.

"Because we need to learn about Antidotes in general before venturing onto Poison Antidotes," Hermione said as a matter-of-fact.

"I don't get why you're all learning about Moonstones in Eight Year," Ginny wondered out loud.

"We're technically revising for our NEWTS."

"And Professor Slughorn required us to have already begun reading about Undetectable Poisons."

Ron cursed under his breath before stabbing his fork into another fat, juicy sausage. "I haven't done none of that. I was busy writing my essay on Everlasting Elixirs."

"Goodness Ron, that wasn't a writing assignment but a reading one."

"I also wrote an essay on that too," Seamus commented.

"How are all of you confused about Slughorn's assignments?" Ginny chuckled.

Harry chuckled to himself, choosing not to comment. While it was true that Professor Slughorn was at times worse than Snape when it came to teaching Potions, he still preferred Slughorn despite his small (read: big) fascination with him just because he was, you know, _Harry Potter_. Also, Slughorn gave everyone a fair shot and chance in his Potions class compared to Snape who tended to favor Slytherins.

Heading off to his mid-morning Potions class in the Dungeons, he wondered if he was forever doomed to not excel in this class. At first, he thought it was Snape that made him fail and look, he partially was as he set non-existent rules such as one had to always score an O in his class and if you were not a Slytherin you were basically doomed to fail (Hermione being the exemplary exception). But with the entrance of Professor Slughorn, he was still scrapping through the class. In their last quiz, he scored a P and that was after studying Hermione's simplified notes from First Year until Seventh Year.

He had failed… and what scared him more was that he did not care that he had failed.

🦁|🐍

Professor Slughorn burst through the room, clapping his hands happily as he looked to his left and right, surveying his Eighth Years. He reached to the front of the classroom, sunlight gleaming through large glass-stained windows, twirled twice, and smiled openly.

"Ah, my students. So, so glad you're all well and good. Now, before I begin and forget, I want all of you to write an essay for the next lesson on the possible ingredients of Weedosoros." There was a collective silence of confusion around the class. "Yes, yes, I know, there is not much known on this mysterious poison but that is the point of the assignment. It could come in your NEWTS next year."

A collective groan was echoed in the class save from Hermione writing everything down on her parchment that Professor Slughorn was instructing.

"Before I forget, this weekend, or before our Thursday class next week, head to Hogsmead to buy several ingredients that you shall be needing for our Potions lessons. They are Sloth brain, Valerian root, Knotgrass, Peppermint, and Shrivelfig. Did you get that? Shrivelfig. We shall be brewing the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Don't forget, my students. We want to create something amusing."

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands together thrice and his grin widened. "Today's an electrifying day, my students, for we shall be brewing a wonderful, absolutely wonderful, Potion today. The powerful Draught of the Living Death! As you all know it is a very strong sleeping potion – the most powerful some may argue." He winked at the class. "It can be made…"

Harry blinked and Professor Slughorn's voice was nothing but an echo. He was never good in Potions, the class requiring precise turnings and timings, and the only time he ever did achieve a decent EE grade was in Sixth Year – the one time he came third in class much to everyone's surprise and to the disdain of his professor. First in class was always Malfoy, no matter how good his best friend was in the class, Malfoy seemed to have a flair for the subject. He never broke a sweat even when Snape threatened anyone who did not get an O would not advance to Sixth Year Potions.

His eyes drifted and slowly blinked diagonally to his left where Malfoy's Potions partner was Pansy Parkinson.

"…into a deathlike slumber." Harry startled into the present, finding the classroom dragging their seats behind them as they stood up and went about fetching ingredients, cauldrons, and other necessities.

Professor Slughorn called out, "Don't forget to pair up with someone _not_ from the same House as yours."

"Bugger!" Ron cursed beside him. "How are we supposed to pick someone? Better yet how are Slytherins going to partner with anybody, not after what they did during the War."

"Ron," Hermione cried exasperated. "The War is done and over with. We're not there anymore. Besides, McGonagall advocated for inter-House unity this year and that is precisely why Slughorn has asked as to pair up with someone from another House."

"The War is still fresh in some of our minds," Ron argued back.

Harry's mind did not have the War fresh in his mind but the crowd of Slytherins sat together on the other side of the classroom. If Slughorn was asking them to partner up with someone from another House, he did not mind, though he would do anything to pair up with Ron, truly. However, he was all for House unity and perhaps it would not be weird if he partnered up with—

"Hey, guys."

The Golden Trio turned to find Luna standing by their table, her eyes a little dazed.

"Hey Luna, how are you?"

"I'm good. Do you think Neville has a partner already?"

The Golden Trio automatically looked over to where Neville was gathering ingredients from the Potions cupboard, accepting instructions from Hannah Abbott.

"I think he has found a partner. Would you like to be my partner?" Hermione asked.

"Why I'd love to," Luna said, her voice airily and light.

Watching his girlfriend partner off with Luna, he groaned, "Mate, we don't have many people left."

Harry had to agree with Ron. Surveying those left, there were still plenty of Slytherins left but very few Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. For some odd reason, he found himself eyeing Malfoy, and an even more odd reason, he was hoping that Malfoy did not have a partner yet.

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands, Harry almost jumping in fear from how close he was to his ears. "Unfortunately, my students, I have just remembered that before we can proceed to brew today's Potion we need to have a sufficient amount of Sopophorous which we do not have enough for everyone in this class. Thank you for the reminder, Ms Abbott. Therefore, change of plans, slightly. Today's class shall entirely be theoretical. You and your partner are to write 65 reasons why Sopophorous is important when brewing a sleeping potion."

"Is he insane? How are we to find even 7 reasons," Ron grumbled under his breath.

Hermione shook her head. "If you had finished your assignment, you would already have 50 reasons and simply need to find the remaining 15. You know you could ask Padma Patil."

"She's quite lovely," Luna said, her voice as light as a cloud.

"Absolutely not," Harry said. "I still have nightmares from the Yule Ball, thank you very much."

"Lisa Turpin?" Hermione suggested.

"No."

"Justin?"

"He has a cold."

"Susan Bones."

"Her hair is too long."

"Mandy Brocklehurst?"

"She smells like cinnamons."

"What's wrong with cinnamons?" Ron asked.

"It's not even, like, November and she smells like cinnamons. Bit weird, innit?"

"I'm not suggesting anyone else because that's literally everybody left. Everyone else already has a partner," and with that Hermione spun around in her chair and began her assignment with Luna.

"Terry Boot looks like he doesn't have a partner," Ron said, conspiratorially. "You can pick Anthony Goldstein."

Harry nodded at his suggestion and as soon as Ron walked off, he walked in the opposite direction, towards Malfoy's table. His hands felt clammy and his knees slightly weak but he reminded himself that he, _the_ Harry Potter, defeated Lord Voldemort, he was pretty sure he could complete a simple task such as asking Malfoy to be his partner.

Even before reaching his table, the Slytherins all turned their heads in slow unison that in any other situation Harry would have been laughing out loud. He stopped before their table, all of them showing different types of grimaces and disgust towards Harry but he ignored them, his eyes settling on Malfoy.

"Harry!"

Harry backtracked and blinked away, looking to his right where none other than Padma stood beside him.

"Hey, Padma."

"Would you like to be partners? You know, inter-House and all? We worked well together during the Yule Ball…"

Harry had secondary flashbacks of the Yule Ball and he willed himself to not physically shake from the horrible nightmares of it.

"Uhh…" he stuttered having not heard the end of her sentence. "I already have a partner." And unwillingly his finger pointed to a Slytherin who was to his immediate left.

"Zabini?"

_Blaise?_

Harry turned and found Blaise looking at him curiously with a bemused smirk playing on his lips. Harry swallowed. How did this even happen? He was meant to partner up with Malfoy, not Blaise of all people. He already saw him enough in Divination. Why did his hands have to cramp up and point to the closest Slytherin?

"Yep," he said, going with the flow. "Inter-house unity and all that jazz."

Both Padma and Harry looked to Blaise who was looking between them amused. Harry stared down at him as if sending a telepathic message of _Please to agree with me_.

"Have you found a partner, Padma?" From behind them, Ernie Macmillan asked.

"No," she answered looking between, once more, Harry and Blaise. "I'll be your partner."

"Wonderful!" Professor Slughorn clapped, Harry wondering how he got to them that quick when the last time he had spotted him he was at the front of the classroom writing something on the board. "And you, my dear boy, who is your partner?"

Harry's mouth moved to speak but no words came out. He quickly glanced towards Malfoy then Blaise then to the Professor.

"Me, Professor," Malfoy spoke coolly and his Slytherin friends all turned to him, varying degrees of shock and surprise, apart from Blaise who was chuckling silently.

"Well done my boy, well done. Truly something special when Slytherins and Gryffindors work together. Just like the founding fathers of Hogwarts did back then."

Harry's eyes widened at the comment and he vaguely wondered if Professor Slughorn knew about Salazar and Godric's legend. He knew a lot about the Horcruxes during his Sixth Year, he probably knew a lot about the original Head of his House.

"C'mon Potter, we've got a list to write," Malfoy said, dryly. He picked up his bag and moved to the back of the classroom and Harry followed suit.

He dropped his bag to the floor, pulled out a seat, and slumped down on it. In comparison, Malfoy gracefully sat down on the stool, his back as straight as a ruler for Malfoys always had great posture, regardless.

"Sorry about all that," he sheepishly apologized. "That was embarrassing."

"You blushing like a fool in front of Padma? Didn't notice a thing."

"I wasn't blushing!"

"You were as red as a tomato."

"Yeah, from embarrassment. I didn't want her as a partner. In fact, I'd take anybody else apart from her."

"Like Blaise?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I… No. That was a mistake. I wasn't—Anyway, what's today's assignment?"

Malfoy did not comment on the subject change and flipped open his textbook to page 458. "Do you know anything about sleeping potions in general?"

"They put you to sleep."

"Wonderful. You get an O in Potions," Malfoy quipped dryly.

"I took a Dreamless Sleep potion before and that's the closest I've come to sleeping potions."

Malfoy raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Nightmares," Harry answered under his breath.

In truth, he does not have nightmares anymore but he does have insomnia. He can never find himself feeling sleepy, even during one of Professor Binns lectures, he was the only one that seemed to stay awake. Sometimes he longed for the nightmares, for the times he would shift in his bed and wake up drenched in sweat from the horrific images of Nagini eating him whole. At least in his nightmare days, he would sleep, even if it was for a mere three hours per night, that was more than enough.

Nowadays he just seems to always remain awake and it was tiring him out.

"Did you hear what Slughorn said, about Salazar and Godric being friends?" Harry whispered conspiratorially.

"Everyone knows that, Potter. It's no secret."

"But what if Slughorn knows a lot more than he is letting on?"

Malfoy wrote three more items on his parchment and then asked, "What do you mean?"

"He knew a lot about Horcruxes."

"How would you know that?"

Harry swallowed. The heavy topic of Horcruxes was a lot to explain to Hermione and Ron at the time, and now explaining it do Malfoy would be heavier as he had to explain what Hermione and Ron already knew and a whole lot of Voldemort, too.

He leaned forward conspiratorially. "What do you know about Voldemort's soul?"

Malfoy's customized quill froze mid-sentence for a fraction of a second before he finished his sentence, put his quill down, and gave Harry his full attention. "Horcrux is dark magic, very, very dark magic. My father taught me a little about it which was enough to make me suspect that the Dark Lord had gone through the same process."

Harry nodded minutely. "Voldemort was the first wizard to split his soul successfully and he had, like, asked Slughorn for advice."

Malfoy startled, looking towards Slughorn helping a couple of Hufflepuff students, then back to Harry. "How do you know he asked Slughorn? And why him? Is he some sort of expert in dark magic?"

"I don't know. That's what he told me. Like, Hermione said there isn't a lot of information regarding Horcruxes around, apparently, you are right, it is very dark magic."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "That's what I just said."

"I was agreeing with you!"

"Good," Malfoy echoed in agreement. "You think Slughorn has knowledge about the legend?"

Harry smirked. "Only one way to find out."

"What's that?" Malfoy asked after a beat.

"Slug Club," he answered as if it was the most obvious answer.

Malfoy snorted. "You honestly don't think this old man still has that stupid club, do you?"

"Watch," Harry whispered before he shot his hand in the air.

Professor Slughorn instantaneously noticed Harry, as he always did. Harry wondered if the reason he noticed him was simply because of his mother being the best student in his class or because he was Harry Potter but that was neither here nor there.

"Yes, my boy, already done with the assignment? I'm sure Draco can learn a thing or two from you."

Malfoy looked affronted but remained quiet.

"I was wondering if you were still going to hold a Slug Club supper party soon?"

Professor Slughorn immediately brightened up and clapped his hands four times. He spun around and as he heads to the front of the class, he announced, "Harry, my boy, has reminded me that I have an announcement to make." He stood tall and strong and proud at the front of the classroom. "To bring about the theme of inter-house unity, with full backing from Headmistress McGonagall, I have revived my prestigious Slug Club from the ashes and we shall have our meeting next Friday evening – in exactly nine days."

Seemingly out of thin air, he produced a long parchment that he waved in the air. "I have changed the rules of admission; no longer will one need to have connections nor hold fame but simply show true promising strength in magic. Additionally, there shall be 12 students, no longer 10. Those attending shall be…"

Harry listened intently, hoping that his name (and Malfoy's) would be called. He was the third student to be formally invited to Friday's supper party, Hermione was the fourth, Luna was the eighth, and Malfoy and Nott were the 11th and 12th respectively.

"We're in!" Harry grinned leaning his body towards Malfoy. The blond man rolled his eyes but the corners of his mouth were twitching.

🦁|🐍

Hermione always had a plan. You could not formulate a sentence with Hermione and leave out _a plan_ for truly they were one and the same thing. This year, Hermione had a 10-month plan on how to achieve perfect NEWTS through a methodological and organized study plan that she generously included Ron and himself into. In all honesty, with Harry's weird insomnia mystery and general lack of will to live, his grades were gradually slipping but not so much that Professors would notice. Though he figured it was a matter of time, especially in Transfiguration and Charms.

He was sat at a corner in the large library and on their table was Neville, Ron, and Hermione. Ron was simply there because Harry dragged him along instead of letting him play chess with his sister Ginny.

He begrudgingly cracked open his Divination textbook to page 368. They were currently learning Cartomancy which was the art of reading cards for insights into future events and for his essay assignment he had to write advantages on using tarot cards over normal cards. While his first experience with Divination was quite something, he grew to love the subject as during his Sixth and Seventh year he discovered that half the cryptic phrases and statements that Trelawney would often mutter to him in a sort of dazed possessed manner came to pass.

"Mate, I don't know how you stand Trelawney after all these years."

Harry smiled at Ron. "She's not that bad when you get to know her. You know she gives us a cup of tea and biscuits before we begin class."

"That's because you're only three in the class," Hermione pointed out. "Luna is, well, _Luna_ so she does not count. Then Zabini whose mother is a voodoo doll for all I know and then you, a very odd choice."

"Is Zabini's mom really a voodoo doll?" asked Neville.

"That's what Millicent told Hannah."

"Since when do those two talk?" Ron wondered out loud.

"Since they were put as Arithmancy partners at the start of the term and have grown quite close," Hermione responded coolly. "Ron, you ought to start on your Arithmancy essay. It's nearly eight inches."

Ron groaned loudly and was immediately hushed by his girlfriend. "How am I supposed to write all that and do the Potions essay, go to Hogsmeade to buy ingredients for next lesson, and fill in three blank star charts and write a five-inch essay on the witch-hunts in the 10th Century and—"

Hermione promptly cut him off with a sharp glare. "It's our _final_ year, did you think it was going to be easy?"

Hearing all of that sucked Harry's joy out of his body like a Dementor's Kiss and what was worse was that Harry was positive he had almost, if not more, assignments as Ron and he barely had begun any of them.

Not even one.

 _If you were like Malfoy, you'd have finished at least half of your assignments already,_ his brain unhelpfully supplied.

"We fought in the bloody war but apparently that means fuck all around here," Ron grumbled.

"Hear, hear," Harry mumbled in agreement and gave his best friend a fist bump.

They fell into a lull of silence, each studying their respective subjects, and not even an hour in, Harry found himself daydreaming. First, it was the Slug Club supper party, wondering what Professor Slughorn had planned, then to the general idea of Horcruxes and briefly wondering who taught Professor Slughorn himself – was it Dumbledore that taught him? Or had he done his own research? Then his mind settled on the myth of Godric and Salazar. Did Fat Friar tell him everything he knew or was he hiding some information from him? If he did then Harry would have an incredibly long list of people to ask about the legend, and he suspected half the list would include the dead for their had more knowledge than the living.

According to Fat Friar, the first person on that list should be the Bloody Baron. The man was known for his temper and the only one that Peeves was scared of which was something, for sure. According to what Helena Ravenclaw told him the Bloody Baron had furiously killed her because of her refusal to marry her and realizing his own mistake, he killed himself hence the constant stain of blood on his ghostly attire.

What intrigued him now about Bloody Baron's story was how he was taught by none other than the founders of Hogwarts. It made perfect sense that he would know more information regarding Salazar because one, he was the founding father of his own House and two, would know whether Salazar was really murdering Muggleborns in the Chamber of Secrets. That may be more up Malfoy's alley for he was sure the Bloody Baron would not be shared with anyone outside Slytherin House on inside information about Salazar himself.

Harry frowned. But why would Fat Friar not believe that Salazar was capable of murdering Muggleborns? Harry knew as well as anyone that truth, more often than not, was stranger than fiction and therefore believed Salazar, to some extent, did murder Muggleborns and somebody somewhere was upset. Very upset. So upset that something horrible happened to him.

He rubbed his face with his hands, internally groaning. He supposed that was enough speculation for one evening and work on his assignments. His second Divination essay, one inch long, was to write on why Italian tarot cards were more powerful magically than the French tarot cards. He was partly happy that Trelawney barely asked a load of thick essays as most of the learning occurred in class rather than outside class. Speaking of outside class…

"Can you guys do me a favor?"

"Sure, Harry, what is it?" asked Neville.

"Can I read your future using tarot cards?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her thick essay. Ron, on the other hand, shook his head. "Absolutely not, mate. Interfering with tarot cards can mess with your magic."

This was news to Harry. "Really?"

"If you don't properly know how to use it – and I doubt that you do – you will invite all sorts of dark magic to meddle with your magic and bad things tend to happen to you."

"It's similar to superstitions like in the Muggle world," Hermione explained and he partly understood where Ron was coming from.

"But, like, Trelawney allowed Blaise to read our futures in class the other day and she seems fine."

"Yeah but that's because the Zabini family are experts on such things," responded Ron, then immediately shrugged. "As far as Pureblood families go, the Zabinis are known for Divination and Astronomy capabilities. They're the best."

"Do you think that their bloodline has, like, been infused with dark magic from practicing card reading for a long time?"

"Do you remember the Mirror of Erised?" Hermione asked, taking a moment's break from her assignment. The three men nodded at her. "Cartomancy, or simply card reading, has the same effect that the Mirror has on one's magic."

"What do you mean, Hermione?" asked Neville.

"The Mirror was often regarded as showing, not one's appearance, but their heart's deepest desire. Cartomancy has the same effect as you allow your future to be read and secretly open up yourself and your magic to be infused with what the cards have predicted as your future."

Harry's mouth dropped. Belatedly he was trying to remember how many times he had done a Tarot reading to either Luna or Blaise as a joke. Far too many for his liking.

"Purebloods, or simply anyone really, spend a large insane amount of time on their readings, on holding onto their dreams so much that it becomes unhealthy because you cling onto empty wishes that were interpreted from a stupid card."

Ron pursed his lips, letting the information simmer for a bit. "All well and true but the Mirror and Tarot cards do say the truth, to some extent."

"Deepest desire should not be confused with one's future, those two are different concepts," Hermione answered. "They appear to come true because your own magic was infused with the Tarot readings."

"In the Muggle world, there are superstitions of not crossing a black cat and, like, is it the same thing?" Harry asked, deeply curious.

"That's absolute nonsense," laughed Ron.

"Is it?" questioned Hermione. "It's the same logic as Tarot cards. Both are ridiculous for sure."

"What are, like, the long-term effects of using Cartomancy for long?"

Hermione pointed to his Divination textbook. "I'm sure you can find more information there. Or ask Zabini for more information as I'm sure he's an expert on it."

"I read," Ron chipped in, "that the cards possess you like how Voldy possessed Ginny in Second Year."

"However, that only happens if you properly know how to read the cards, of course, otherwise they are harmless. But I shall not risk it as Divination is not a real _subject_." And with that, she finished her break and proceeded to finish her thick essay.

Harry looked towards Ron, then Neville, then back at Ron. "So… any chance on me reading your future?"

Ron snorted. "Not a chance, mate. Don't want to risk it."

He turned to Neville, hopefully.

Neville at least had the decency to look apologetic. "Sorry, Harry. Good luck finding someone else."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well well well.... the plot t h i c c e n s ...
> 
> kudos & comments - even the random ones, too - are HIGHLY WELCOMED as i love to read what y'all think (:
> 
> y'all take care x


	4. Amicis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to apologize for the information OVERLOAD of the world of hogwarts and beyond. y’all already know your ABC’s about it but i don’t think it would hurt to re-learn? and who knows, maybe you’ll learn something knew. 
> 
> PS nothing is 100% accurate teehee

Harry was closely starting to feel like a proper Muggle zombie.

He was constantly dreading the night time for it was when his body would normally go to sleep but his decidedly did not. At first, he dreaded the moment he headed off to the Gryffindor towers to call it a night because that was when his nightmares would flare up. Madam Pomfrey had kindly provided him with numerous bottles of the Dreamless Sleep Potion which had worked wonderfully as he had stopped having nightmares.

With his nightmares having stopped, his joy was short-lived when sleep also eluded him. Walking off to the Hospital Wing, Madam Pomfrey provided him with a Drowsiness Draught that would induce tiredness that should cause him to fall asleep. Nothing happened and he stayed awake, staring at the ceiling of his bedpost until it was time for breakfast. The next time, he placed a bottle of Fatiguing Fusion beside his Drowsiness Draught and … nothing. Again. The only difference this time was the large amount of fumes surrounding his bed.

He found himself, once again, stomping off to Madam Pomfrey’s office, explaining that sleep was eluding him. She conjured a dark purple Sleeping Draught for him that was meant to put him into a deep sleep instantaneously. Excitedly, he took a drink out of the bottle, placed the potion on his bedside table, closed his eyes and… did not drift off to sleep. He waited for a couple of minutes, couple of hours, still nothing and cursed Madam Pomfrey the entire night.

In one of his insomnia phases, and in desperation, when instead of heading to the Astronomy Tower, he ventured off to the Potions Storeroom which was, strangely, unlocked. Briefly he wondered since Snape was dead, was that the reason the Storeroom was unlocked? He picked a Crup Sleeping Draught, or three for good measure, and prayed to Merlin this one would do the trick. It was meant for crups, but well, it was under ‘Sleeping Potions’ in the Storeroom so he supposed it would work. The damn elixir never worked.

You know he was desperate when he was taking sleeping potions for dogs!

Without wanting to cause a fuss about his lack of sleep and cause a worrying strain to his friends _and_ Madam Pomfrey, he had begun to use his nights to good use. Not to study, no, but in cooking. It was how he had discovered that the Room of Requirement was in fact still functional – miraculously – and it was oddly therapeutic.

So were the Astronomy Tower trips and the lengthy goodbye letters he frequently wrote to Molly, his adopted mother. The night Malfoy had met him he had the intention of sending that letter, his last goodbye letter but the slimy git had begun talking to him about the damn legend or whatever and in that he had forgotten about his letter. He had not touched it since but it was safely tucked inside his bedside table.

He was alerted to the time by the sounds of his roommates waking up and he groaned into his pillow. Another night where he barely caught a wink of sleep. He got ready in the blink of an eye something that was eerily starting to lightly scare him at how moments would pass away without his knowledge, as if somebody was controlling his life.

Well, not exactly controlling him, he had 17 years of that happening thank you very much, but controlling in the sense that his body simply took over and he was on autopilot. That type of controlling.

🦁|🐍

Afternoon classes on a Wednesday were superb for it was a double Arithmancy, followed by Ancient Runes and finally, before classes were over for the day, Ghoul Studies which only Dean took which then made Charms the last class Harry had for the day.

Before lunch, he thought it would be a good idea of visit Rebeus Hagrid. He had not seen the loving tall man in a minute. On his walk from the Gryffindor Towers down the corridors, he bumped into Ginny.

“Hey Ginny!” he greeted.

“Hey Harry,” she greeted back. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

“Oh?” He was starting to sound like a parrot apparently.

Ginny nodded. “Lunch?”

“Sure,” he readily agreed, visiting Hagrid put off for another day. They made small talk, Harry inquiring about Charlie’s adventures with dragons in Lithuania, of Molly’s new cooking spells, what new Muggle objects Arthur acquired and if Bill figured out a name for his new baby girl.

Lunch was already served when they arrived but Harry found none of his friends were present. He found it odd but quickly remembered that they were all in the library finishing a last minute Arithmancy essay before their class. He looked across the Great Hall and indeed neither was Malfoy.

“Hullo Harry, ready for duck?”

He turned, surprised he had not spotted Luna before.

“Duck?” Ginny asked.

“We’re having duck for lunch.”

Both Harry and Ginny looked down at the table and indeed there were plates and plates of duck. Watching the hot steam evaporate from the juicy meat, his stomach growled and immediately dug in.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things,” Ginny said, “and those things happen to include you.”

“Oh?” he said and internally cringed. He was seriously turning into a parrot. He might as well be called Harry _Parrot_ Potter.

“Yeah, haven’t you?”

His fork froze halfway to his mouth. In truth, he had not in fact been thinking about Ginny nor about Ginny _and_ him. The War had a way of dampening any romantic mood which was a huge wet blanket on their relationship and at some point, Harry felt as if he was in it just because. They had not quite broken up but they also were not quite dating.

And now Ginny was picking it up again.

He swallowed his roasted potatoes. “Truthfully, I, like, haven’t.”

“Well when we got together we were so young and fresh and the War happened so we didn’t really connect. But after the War I felt like the spark was there. We had something special, you and I.” Ginny paused. “I think we should not be quick to say goodbye to what we had.”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes wandered off to where a certain blond would normally sit during meals. He could almost see him, sat with his long fingers poking his fork into a juicy piece of duck, nodding his head at whatever Parkinson or Nott were chatting about. He cleared his throat. “You want to get back together?”

“Of course! You and I had something special and we’d be fools to let it go just because of a War. Voldemort can’t destroy they fire we had.”

Harry shifted in his seat. “I think… um… we should, uh…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Luna said calmly, cutting through their bubble.

Ginny snapped her head to her, momentarily forgetting that Luna was also on their table. “Why’s that Luna?”

“Harry’s has an aura about him.”

Harry stuffed his mouth his glazed carrots and chewed silently.

“What aura?”

“A yellow aura.”

“A Hufflepuff aura?” questioned Harry.

“What does that have to do with my relationship?” she asked, irritated.

“We are much more than our House, are we not?” questioned Luna, her voice as light as a cloud.

Harry swallowed his pudding. “What aura is Ginny?”

“Are you serious, Harry? She’s is talking nonsense.”

“Ginny!” Harry chastised.

“Blue.”

“Blue?”

“Blue and yellow have no business together. Your auras do not match.” She simply got up from the table and walked out of the Great Hall without another word.

“There’s a reason she was called Loony Luna.”

“Ginny,” sighed Harry.

“You’re not seriously listening to her. Our auras don’t match,” she mocked Luna’s airy voice. “We make our own rules not something you read on a palm or look into a clear ball.”

Harry looked longingly at his food. “I’ll think about it, Ginny.”

“What’s to think about?”

“We… it’s been a while.”

Ginny wriggled her eyebrows and smirked. “It has, hasn’t it?”

Harry’s eyes widened and he shot down whatever was on her mind. “Get your mind out of the gutter, that is not what I meant.” He heavily sighed. “I’ll think about it.”

This did not make her happy for she glared at him for a long time before she stomped out of the Hall. He turned back and looked on at the head of the duck to his left.

“Messed that one up, didn’t I?”

The duck’s eyes simply stared blankly.

“It’s what I thought,” he said mournfully before blinking and looking hastily around. Thankfully no one picked up on him talking to a roasted duck.

🦁|🐍

He bumped into Fat Friary on the third floor of the castle.

He had been aimlessly walking, darting his eyes right and left at the numerous portraits on either side, all representing past Hogwarts professors, personalities, celebrities and other icons. In seeing portrait after portrait, it occurred to him to find Godric Gryffindor’s portrait. That should have been their first plan, really, to find his portrait and inquire where Godric – the real Godric, not the portrait Godric – was buried. He figured that Drac-Malfoy was going to tackle Salazar’s portrait.

Fat Friar twirled in the air at the sight of Harry. “So glad to see you! Oh my dear! It’s been a hot minute, has it not?” He flew closer to him. “I hear that’s what people say nowadays, ‘a hot minute’ to signify a while.”

“That’s right,” Harry chuckled at his amusement. “I was hoping to bump into you, actually.”

“At your service, son.”

“I was hoping you would direct me to where Godric Gryffindor’s portrait is located.”

Fat Friar smiled joyfully. “Why, it’s on the 10th floor, of course. Where else would it be?”

“I thought it was on the seventh floor?”

“It was moved in the late 14th century to the 10th floor.”

“How come?”

“Mum’s the word on the change. It’s an ongoing mystery and so far, no one seems to have solved it. Not even Helena herself knows the answer.”

“Why would she know where Godric’s portrait is?”

“Because, son, she knows everything! Much cleverer than her mother, she. Bit dreadful about her stealing the diadem.”

Harry nodded, storing the information for later to tell Malfoy. “Thanks, Fat Friar.”

“Why the sudden interest?”

“I am still curious about Godric and Salazar’s friendship. Maybe if I talk to Godric’s portrait I might get some clues.”

Fat Friar, strangely, disappeared below the ground without another word. It was a bit out of character for him, but well Harry had just met the monk and did not in fact know much about him to say he was acting out of character. When he arrived on the 10th floor, the ghost reappeared.

“Hello again! I wanted to see if I could reach here before you.”

Harry smiled up at him. “Obviously. You can go through walls and I cannot. By the way, does it hurt?”

“Does what hurt?”

“Going through walls and all? Does it hurt you?”

Fat Friar laughed joyfully. “Not at all, Harry. It’s the same feeling as walking through a fog. You don’t really feel it. I don’t feel things anymore.”

“Do you miss that feeling?”

Fat Friar bounced as they walked down the well-lit corridor of the 10th floor. “I’ve been dead for so long I don’t think I can safely say I miss it. I don’t remember the feeling of sun on my skin, or the rain on my face.”

Harry involuntarily shivered. He could not imagine never having to feel the sun on his own skin. Despite the horrible English weather, he did occasionally like the rain, the smell of it, especially. But to have lived so long as a ghost that one forgot the feel of such small, yet big, things, he could not imagine it and his heart sunk at the prospect of Fat Friar’s ancient ghost.

“Here we are! The one and only, the brilliant Godric!”

Harry started. The portrait was empty! There was no one in the portrait. There was, however, a painting of a lion that presumably was sleeping – it was hard to tell – in a field of green grass with the sun shining in the upper left corner of the frame. Below the portrait it was written: _Godric Gryffindor, One of the Founders of Hogwarts_ _, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,1131_.

“I don’t understand, where is he?”

“Why, there he is.” He pointed to the lion in the portrait.

Harry leaned forward, his nose almost brushing against the portrait. “He… Godric was an Animagus? He had the capability?”

“Of course, he did. An Animagus in the form of a lion is quite difficult to achieve but alas, as it is Gryffindor himself, it is not so hard to imagine. He was the best of the best, son.”

Harry inched closer to the portrait and noticed that the lion’s tale was moving slightly. “Does Godric talk?”

“Ah, that’s where the problem begins.” Fat Friary flew slightly higher and Harry had to turn his head up to view his face. “He has barely changed from his Animagus form since his portrait was moved in 1368. He does not speak, does not respond to those who prompt him to. For hundreds of years, many have tried but the lion remains sleeping.”

Whether it was because he was in Gryffindor or having vast experience on being _famous_ , he had the feeling that Godric had been ignoring everyone for hundreds of years. He knew for sure that Dumbledore must have tried his luck in getting the lion to speak, let alone _speak_ or even change from its Animagus form but alas, Godric was constantly unmoved.

The following day in their Transfiguration double lesson, Harry relayed the same information to Malfoy (after hassling to be his class partner before Parkinson could get a word in).

“Potter, did you listen to a word McGonagall said in class?”

Harry blinked at him. “No? I don’t know. But did you hear what _I_ said?”

“Today we are turning Cauldron Cakes into cabbages. One of the hardest and most complicated of transformation spells.”

Harry made a face. “I don’t like cabbage.”

“Did you also not notice that she did not give us the incantation? We have to figure that out ourselves before the lesson is over.”

“Good thing it’s a double.”

“While education might not be of importance to you,” Malfoy grinded his teeth, “some of us need to have EE or above as part of our probation orders.”

“But you, like, got an O in Transfiguration.”

Malfoy rolled his eyes. “Sixth Year is much harder than Fifth Year, Potter.”

Seemingly ignoring Malfoy’s point, he asked in a deep whisper, “Did you know that McGonagall is also an Animagus?”

Malfoy combed his fingers through his hair, sighing. “Ten minutes of discussing what you found out and we go back onto our work.”

“Deal.”

“And everybody with a brain knows her Animagus is a cat.”

Harry smiled like a Cheshire cat. “Tabby cat.”

Malfoy ignored him completely. “Why was his portrait moved in 1368? Did anything happen during that time?”

“Nothing in the history books jumped out when I read on it last night. It was a day like any other.”

“So, something significant must have occurred within Hogwarts.”

Harry leaned closer to Malfoy. “But the important thing is, like, why is he always in his lion form? Like, I thought there was a time limit on that or something?”

“Not for portraits. They are free to be whatever they want to be. However, I think the issue is _why_ , not how, Godric chooses to stay in his Animagus form.”

Their conversation was cut short as Professor McGonagall passed their table, her sharp eyes diverting to them to see their progress. Malfoy muttered a few incantations in both Latin and French and Harry briefly wondered if Malfoy spoke another language apart from English.

“When I was with Fat Friar—”

“Why were you with that fat Hufflepuff ghost?”

“Oi, he’s quite delightful.”

Malfoy sharply turned to him. “May I remind you why this needs to be of utmost top secret? If it gets out that we are conspiring to solve an ancient legend that the castle barely talks about, it will end badly and I can kiss my chances of living the rest of my life freely goodbye as I will be spending a good odd sixty-six years in Azkaban.”

“The Ministry can’t do that!”

“Terms of my probation,” Malfoy said in a tone that indicated he was tired of using this as an explanation for a lot of aspects of his life. “You need to keep that Hufflepuff ghost aloof.”

“We can trust him.”

“We can trust no one. I have a strong sense that Salazar realized that in the end before his demise. And even after.”

“What do you mean?”

Malfoy made a swish-swish movement with his wand and asked what he had been meaning to say earlier. Harry frowned at the obvious change in subject but he was too excited to share the news with him to comment further.

“Fat Friar, like, did not notice that Godric’s tail moved. He truly believed that Godric was sleep.”

“Interesting. Perhaps the portrait is charmed to only show to specific people? Such as those from Gryffindor.” He muttered under his breath when his Cauldron Cakes transformed into apples. He set his wand down with a loud smack and turned to Harry. “Have you perhaps gone with someone else?”

“I thought we were in secret about our mission?” Harry smirked.

“You can go on another pretense as to why you’re visiting the portrait, Potter. You don’t have to be literal.”

“Is that what you did with Salazar’s?”

“I can’t find it in the Dungeons.”

Harry frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Precisely what I mean,” Malfoy spat frustrated, but more at himself than Harry. “I can’t find it and those useless portraits in the dungeons won’t assist me. I, also, can’t seem to locate the Bloody Baron.”

“Fat Friar told me he has been hanging out on the 13th floor.”

Malfoy’s eyebrows raised in surprise. “13th floor? Why on earth would be there?”

Before Harry could reply there was a loud chatter of cheers and they both looked up to find Hermione bouncing on her heels. Looking closely, Harry saw a bright green cabbage perched on her table.

“Excellent work, Ms Granger,” Professor McGonagall praised her. “It’s perfect! The rest of you, please follow her lead.”

Harry looked down at their Cauldron Cakes and he wanted nothing but to eat it. Malfoy seemed to be in a bitter mood for not having transformed the Cake before Hermione and he stared hard at it as if by the power of his eyes he could transform it to Hermione’s identical green cabbage.

“Let’s come up with a codename for our mission,” Harry suggested. “Maybe cabbage?”

Malfoy levelled him with a look. “You would like to name a very real, very serious mission on finding the truth behind the founders of Hogwarts _cabbage_? The disrespect Potter!”

“Snake?”

“No.”

“Lion?”

“You’re mad.”

“Cakes?”

“No.”

“Butterbeer?”

“Never.”

“Tarts.”

“Are you hungry?” asked Malfoy, looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Harry sheepishly smiled at him.

“How about _amicis_?”

“ _Amicis_?”

“Yes. It’s inconspicuous enough and won’t arouse suspicion.”

“What does it mean?”

He never found out his answer as Professor McGonagall dismissed them for the day but left them with the assignment on figuring out the incantation for today’s lesson.

“Mr Potter, a word,” Professor McGonagall’s voice rang through loud and sharp and Harry froze. What was this about? Malfoy spared him a brief glance before joining Parkinson and heading out of the classroom. Hermione and Ron stopped by his table, stating that they would wait for him outside class. He nodded and made his way to the front of the class.

He swallowed thickly before stating, “I am sorry that I did not—” She raised her hand to stop his speech of what he thought she wanted to hear.

“I am very much aware that you skipped our very important meeting regarding your Apprenticeship,” she said, her tone sharp yet somehow also warm. “While these meetings are not compulsory, as not every career requires an Apprenticeship nor NEWTS, some of these are very much helpful and it would be foolish to let the opportunity pass.

“However, I have been keeping my eye on you. There is something different about you, something that reminds me of a fish out of water.” She paused and for the first time in their interaction her eyes softened at him. “I can see your pain from afar, Harry, and it’s a surprise that no one has been able to spot it.”

“I’m not in pain.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I have taken the liberty of acquiring a Mind Healer for you and you are scheduled to meet them next week Friday after dinner.”

That was the same day that Slughorn was hosting him and the rest for the Slug Club supper party. He could not miss that as they were going to find out important information of what Slughorn knew about the legend.

“But—” He tried to explain himself but Professor McGonagall stopped him.

“No buts, Harry. This is important. It’s only one meeting that I ask of you. If you do not like them then that is all well and good, you do not need to continue seeing them. If you do like them and feel that they can help you sort through your pain, Harry, then they will be more than happy to do so.”

There it was again, the softening of her eyes and her tone purely warm. It reminded him of a mother’s love and a wave of sadness washed over him.

“It’s your choice, Harry.”

Harry wanted to argue that he never had a choice. Not from the day he was born, not since he was a little boy, not when Hagrid told him he was a wizard, not when he was competition in the Triwizard tournament, not when Voldemort’s voice taunted him relentlessly in Fifth Year, not when he was wildly running around looking for Horcruxes and following Dumbledore’s orders, not when he was writing goodbye letters to Molly, not once did he have a choice.

Yet he managed to let out a weak, “Okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooooooooo and so we move on. do we have an idea what their Mission name translates to? aye?  
> thank you for reading this far and kudos & comments - even the random ones, too - are welcomed with open arms as i love to read what y'all think (:
> 
> y'all take care x


	5. Pink Carnations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the poem in the chapter is from John Donne's poem: holy sonnets: death, be not proud.
> 
> enjoy x

"Honestly Ron it's none of your business why Harry and Ginny are no longer dating," said Hermione.

"But _why not_? So far Harry hasn't said a reason as to why."

"Because he does not want to should be reason enough."

"There has to be something more," Ron insisted.

Harry rubbed his face with his hands. They were currently in the Common Room, the Golden Trio working on their Charms essay together, rather Hermione intensively researching on nonverbal spells while Harry pondered on his upcoming meeting with his Mind Healer and Ron munched happily on chocolate frogs – gifts for all three of them from George Weasley that Ron was quickly munching away.

"I told her I'd think about it," Harry interrupted their bickering. They both turned to look at him, Ron's eyes narrowed at him. "I do love her, don't get me wrong, but not, like, you know, romantically. I see her almost like a sister. Like, how Hermione and I would never date."

"Better not, mate," Ron warned not unkind.

"I understand, Harry. The War was a difficult time for anyone and if you felt differently about Ginny as an effect of it, it is okay. What is not okay is to keep her waiting."

"Or work it out, you know" Ron suggested.

"That is not going to work," Hermione sharply said to her boyfriend. "Ginny sounded as if she wanted to rekindle whatever romance they had but how do you rekindle a fire that has gone out?"

"Easy. By lighting another fire."

"Some things should not be relit like Harry and Ginny's relationship. Would it be fair to Harry to simply agree to date Ginny when he did not love her romantically? It would be fair to anybody."

"He could try," Ron mumbled.

"I'm sorry, Ron," Harry apologized. "I don't feel that way anymore. I think the War made me realize a lot of things and one of them was that, like, I'm not in love anymore. I think we found comfort in each other because, you know, _the War_ , but once it was over I thought, like, I'd feel the same but to be fair, I did not. I am grateful that we had each other, duh."

"Of course, you did, mate. I totally see that," Ron replied sarcastically.

"Enough of this!" Hermione had reached her limit. She starkly pointed at Harry with her long index finger. "You go inform Ginny that you no longer want a relationship with her in a cordial manner." Then promptly pointed to her boyfriend. "And you need to come to terms with your best friend no longer in love with your baby sister." With that, she promptly packed her Charms homework and stormed off to the Girl dormitories.

Harry took his cue to leave, not wanting to remain in the awkward presence of Ron, not bothering to take a chocolate frog or two for himself, and headed off to the Room of Requirement for an impromptu cooking session. On his walk to the Room, he decided he was going to make the delicious Broccoli Tahini Pasta Salad which was simple enough as he simply had to boil the vegetables, pasta, and make the Lemon Tahini dressing salad, and _voilà._

He began the recipe by chopping the broccoli into small, chunky sizes and put them inside a glass bowl. Next, he chopped the green beans into half and added them to the mix. On top of a lemon kick, he also loved zucchini and it was an obvious choice to add to his broccoli pasta salad. He added the other ingredients such as the cherry tomatoes and sun-dried tomatoes (can never have too many tomatoes, see) and finally some pine nuts.

Waiting for the pasta water to boil, he briefly wondered how he was going to get Godric's portrait to speak. Or rather, move.

He figured that Malfoy did have a point that maybe Godric's lion did not present itself to be alive because he was with Fat Friar and perhaps if he had gone alone it would show himself to him? Simply because he was of the same House? What was more was why Godric was by himself on the floor? Before leaving that night, he had walked up and down the corridor and Godric was the only living person on that floor. Scratch that, he was the only living creature on that floor. The other portraits were simply of naturistic paintings such as mountains, oceans, forests, beaches, whathaveyou.

He added the fusilli to his boiling water, reduced the fire, and sat back, waiting for it to be ready.

There was also the issue of Salazar's portrait missing. Why would his portrait be _missing_? And how long had it been missing for? Surely, if it were really missing Hogwarts would have known? Or rather Dumbledore or even Headmistress McGonagall? And surely it would be odd that there was no commotion regarding its disappearance, regardless of how the Slytherin House was perceived?

Perhaps it was a trick, Harry entertained himself with the thought amusingly, orchestrated by Slytherin himself, like a simple charm of illusion and he was secretly counting down the days (rather centuries, at this point) to when someone would notice it was an illusionary charm. He had defeated Voldemort with a First Year spell, what was to say this was not the same?

There was no way he was going to find his answers by looking at his steaming pasta cook and he opted to think about it later. His pasta was ready in no time and in a large bowl, he mixed his vegetable ingredients and the pasta. He drizzled the Lemon Tahini into the bowl and mixed everything. He later added more spices and a squeeze of more lemon for the taste. He poured himself a healthy amount, already calculating that he would not attend lunch at the Great Hall, and kept the rest in the fridge for dinner.

Or breakfast.

Or a late-night snack seeing as he spent the nights wide awake.

He never found the cure to his insomnia and Harry was increasingly worried about his lack of sleep, even entertaining the idea that he had transformed into a Muggle zombie and nobody knew. How was he able to remain awake for nearly 24 hours and his body not need sleep? It was basic knowledge that a body needed rest to rejuvenate yet Harry's body was able to sustain him.

How?

He took a bite of his broccoli pasta salad. He supposed he could ask Hermione. Or Malfoy, too.

🦁|🐍

As soon as Professor Binns began his revision on the Soap Blizzard of the 14th Century in 1378, the classroom dozed off, even his deskmate Ernie Macmillan was already snoring away. Harry, with a renewed interest in wizarding world history from Sixth Year, listened on closely. Sadly, he was alone in this class as his friends, literally, everyone in Gryffindor, had dropped the class and they all wondered why Harry kept the subject. Even Hermione asked him one day and she was the only one who ever stayed awake during Professor Binns' monotonous droning on magical history.

As soon as it was time for their next lesson, Harry marched to the front and asked about Godric's history.

Professor Binns did not spare him a glance as he packed his sheets of parchment into his bag. "You can find the necessary information in your textbook, Mr Potter."

"I cannot seem to find anything regarding his death," Harry tried a different angle, "see I would like to know where he was buried."

"Why, he was buried on Hogwarts grounds, along with the other three founders of our school as is indicated on page 971 in _A History of Magic_."

Harry looked embarrassed. Such basic information would simply be found in a textbook. "Well, there seems to, like, not be much information regarding the founders' relationships."

Professor Binns stopped his packing and looked up at his Eighth Year student. "Relationships have no business in history books, Mr Potter. Their impact and work towards the building of our school has bigger importance, wouldn't you agree?"

"But their falling out did play a great significance, did it not? That's why there are, like, House prejudices between Gryffindor and Slytherin _because_ of their founders."

"In Chapter Four of _A History of Magic_ , Mr Potter," Professor Binns said, his voice not a drone anymore but rather quite sharp and impatient and, momentarily, Harry wondered what his real voice sounded like. "It indicates the relationship between Godric and Salazar was based on that of professionalism to build something unprecedented that would last for millennials to come, to provide an institution of learning for all those who wished to learn. Whatever ill relationship the two founders, or even four founders, had between themselves did not interfere with the overall big picture."

"But whatever their relationship it did have an impact on the big picture."

"Might I remind you that I deal with facts, not myths, Mr Potter."

"It is a _fact_ that Slytherin and Gryffindors hate each other."

"That's a myth," said Professor Binns and he clicked his bag closed. "Mrs Binns is making a roast for dinner and I do not want to be late." He looked at the time that appeared in thin air. "Almost 6 o'clock. Good evening, Mr Potter. See you next week for class."

"Your wife is alive Professor?" Harry blurted.

"Of course she is alive! What kind of question is that?"

"It's just… er…" Harry faltered. How could he inform him that he was, well, dead? Professor Binns floated before him, waiting for him to continue. "Your wife… Is she… when did… the roast dinner…"

"Out with it Mr Potter."

"You're dead!"

Professor Binns stared at him for long moments of silence before, and Harry had never witnessed this, laughing out loud. "Oh! I can assure you, Mr Potter, that I am truly alive and kicking."

"No Sir, you're not."

"No, I am."

"You died sometime in the Sixties," Harry explained.

"Alright, I'll bite. How did I die?"

Harry hesitated, "You were quite old when you died. Um, you fell asleep in the staffroom fire and you died in your sleep. The next day you got up and continued teaching as if nothing happened but, like, as a ghost."

"That… that can't be. I am alive! I am alive!" he screamed facing the heavens. "I am not dead. I will never die. I was promised to teach for the rest of my life."

"Who promised you?"

"Harry, my boy," Professor Binns said with utmost urgency, "you must find a Pureblood wizard or witch as soon as possible and bring them here before it's too late for me."

"What?! What's going on?"

"It seems that—that you were—are right. I think I am… dead."

Harry's eyes widened on the spot as he watched the professor fade before his eyes and then return to his normal ghost self. In the next minute, before his very green eyes, his body glitched as his head moved sharply to the right while his body shifted to its left then returned as fast as it had happened. And then it happened three more times.

"Harry! Please! Fetch a Pureblood immediately."

Harry got to, his legs shuffling before running out of the Charms classroom and running quickly to the—

\---where? Where was he to find a Pureblood? Where would one find a room full of Purebloods? Why, the Great Hall! No matter what time of day it was, there were always students and teachers around in there.

His heart was beating erratically against his chest as his legs run down the stairs. Would Professor Binns be alright? Did he make a mistake of telling him he was dead? Nobody had ever told him since his death in the Sixties that he was not alive and yet everyone continued like it was business as usual. And what was happening to him right now? Why did he need to find a Pureblood—

He stopped at the doors of the Great Hall, stopping to catch his breath and scan the hall. His eyes fell on two sets of ginger hair on the Gryffindor table. The Weasleys were Purebloods, he could ask them. He stopped his feet after several steps. Ginny most likely would not talk to him and he and Ron were icy towards each other because of Ginny.

He turned around and spotted a platinum blond head at the Slytherin table. Malfoy was a Pureblood, probably the most Purebloods of Purebloods he had ever come across in his lifetime. He marched towards the Slytherin table, ignoring the whispers and murmurs as a Gryffindor headed to a Slytherin table.

"I need your help," Harry announced, and as if in slow motion, Malfoy and his friends all turned to face him. "It's urgent."

"I'm eating, Potter."

"It's… life or death," he sputtered. "It's a matter of life and death. Literally."

"I'm sure nobody is dying soon, Harry," Blaise said, coolly.

"Since when do you call him Harry?" Parkinson asked, turning to face him.

"Since Trelawney insists we call each other by our first names," Blaise said, unperturbed. "And besides, Harry, Trelawney said nobody was dying this week in Hogwarts."

Harry rolled his eyes at Blaise. "She also said a giant monkey will be in the Great Hall on Sunday at 5 o'clock and yet nothing of the sort has ever happened."

"Have faith, as Luna always says."

"As much as this is delightful, some of us are trying to eat in peace," Bulstrode said, glaring at Harry.

Harry ignored her. "Please Malfoy, someone might seriously be dying."

"Are you going to explain what this is about?" Malfoy asked, showing no signs of moving whereas Harry was looking increasingly like he was about to yank Malfoy up by his robes and drag him to the Charms classroom.

" _Amicis_!" he cried out, remembering their code.

"You speak Latin, Potter?" Nott asked, surprised, along with the rest of the Eighth Year Slytherins.

He did not have time to speak as Malfoy stood up, muttering a small goodbye to his friends, and walked out of the Great Hall, Harry hot on his heels. Outside the doors of the hall, Malfoy turned and demanded him to explain himself.

"It's not quite about… you know _amicis_ but about Professor Binns."

Malfoy made a move to walk back towards the Great Hall. "I assure you, Potter, I couldn't care less about that old oaf."

Harry grabbed his wrist to stop him, urgently saying, "It's… important. I think he's dying."

Malfoy frowned. "He's already dead? How can the dead die? Twice I might add?" Harry took a deep breath and in under 20 seconds explained what had transpired after his lesson. "He's going to the other side!"

"What?" Harry jogged to catch up with Malfoy who was taking rather large strides towards the Charms classroom. "What do you mean?"

"It happens, sometimes, with the dead when they are afraid to go to the other side of The Veil. They remain on this side, with the living, because they cannot part," he explained.

"Why did he ask for a Pureblood?"

"Purebloods have the power to chant an incantation for the dead to pass successfully beyond The Veil without being stuck in the middle. However, even with an incantation done he has to be willing to leave which he has not done since 1966." He narrowed his eyes at Harry. "You might have disrupted that."

Harry spluttered. "I thought he was dying! He kept, like, disappearing from my eyes and insisting I fetch a Pureblood witch or wizard."

"This rarely happens," said Malfoy, making a right turn and jogging down the corridor. "Usually a wizard or witch will go their entire life without performing The Veil ritual as it seldom transpires. Rumor has it that some choose to come to Hogwarts simply because of Professor Binns." He came to the 4F classroom and pushed open the door. "To simply witness him understanding that he is dead and then perform the ritual."

"Is that why some people keep the lesson?"

Malfoy shook his head. "He's far too anemic to simply keep the lesson. Honestly, this moment is so rare it happens in one out of 657 chances. Count yourself lucky, Potter."

Harry was not feeling lucky. "Not so much, I feel like I've ruined his life."

Professor Binns was still present; however, his appearance was pale, very pale that he could barely make out his shape floating in the air. Or Harry could read everything written on the board whilst looking through his old professor.

Malfoy looked down at Harry and had a smirk playing on his lips. "Ready?"

Harry nodded, not ready but his blood was making him nervous and excited for what was to come. He watched Malfoy remove his wand from his inner robes, raise it to the ceiling and murmur something in French… or Latin, Harry was not particularly sure, all the while his wand moving in a precise and intricate triskaidecagon shape.

Sparks of pink carnations softly flew from the tip of his wand and surrounded Professor Binns beginning with the tips of his shoes up to his legs, covering his arms with nothing but pink carnations, and eventually they fell gently over his face. All the while Malfoy had been murmuring under his breath.

Harry blinked and Professor Cutherts Binns was no more.

"Where is he?" asked Harry looking frantically where he had last seen his Professor. He squinted into the air as if to catch a glimpse of his very, very pale ghost professor but the air was crystal clear.

Malfoy stepped forward and bent to the floor. "He has safely departed."

Harry for some reason was not reassured. "Did—did I cause it? Like, did I kill—Oh, Merlin!"

Malfoy spun on the spot and walked back to him. He gingerly reached the space between them and took Harry's hand in his. He opened his hand, palm facing towards the ceiling. He then put a single pink carnation flower on his palm and then stepped back slightly.

Harry looked down at his palm, raised his head to Malfoy with a million questions dancing on his face.

" _Et mors ultra non erit, Mortem tu eris mori_ ," said Malfoy, the Latin words rolling off his tongue flawlessly that for a second Harry wondered if it would be weird to request Malfoy to speak Latin all the time. "It's the incantation one says to allow souls that have not yet departed to move freely between this world and beyond. The pink carnations," he pointed to the one in Harry's open palm, "are flowers associated with safe passage and also, traditionally, are given in condolence for the dead."

"What does the Latin phrase mean."

"And death shall be no more, Death thou shalt die."

"What does that mean?"

"Pureblood tradition folklore dictates that a wizard, or a witch, does not consider death the end of life but the next big adventure. To get to the next adventure, one would conquer death through dying."

Harry frowned. "That… doesn't make sense. You conquer death through death?"

"Yes."

"So," he looked back down at the flower in his palm, "he's really gone? No more Professor Binns?"

"You did him some good, honestly."

"How come nobody ever told him he was dead?"

And Malfoy did the most unexpected thing that he ever thought possible: he smiled. A genuine smile, without its accompanying snark nor sarcasm, and it was so pure Harry looked back down at the flower in his hand.

"Curious, isn't it? Folklore tradition never dictated for anyone to tell spirits they're dead because it was always assumed they knew – which frankly they do. Nobody knew how to go about with rare examples like Professor Binns and it was assumed we would all wait until he found it out himself."

"That's… sad."

He looked up to find Malfoy strangely looking at him. He cleared his throat and asked, "What happens now?"

"You get to decide what to do with the flower. It's your choice."

🦁|🐍

The words Draught of Living Death appeared on the board during the afternoon class of Potions. Whilst in the previous class Professor Slughorn had announced that students would require extra ingredients and had to make a trip to Hogsmeade to fetch the ingredients, that was not the case for today. As soon as they were all seated, Professor Slughorn excitedly announced that he had fetched the required ingredients and they would be brewing the sleeping potion in today's lesson.

Like always, the professor had given them three unrelated essays to be completed before the next lesson.

"Who can give me the names of the other sleeping potions?"

Malfoy snorted under his breath beside Harry. "Second Year questions."

Harry whispered back, "Revision is a powerful thing." For once, however, Harry knew the answer. As he had been lacking sleep lately and had tried nearly everything under the sun to enable him to sleep and not entertain the idea that he was secretly a vampire, or worse a Muggle zombie, he was excited for today's particular lesson as, as far as he understood anyway, that this potion was the most powerful and potent of all sleeping potions.

Hermione had raised her hand and promptly answered.

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands twice. "Excellent, Ms Granger. Quite excellent. Sharp as ever! I can wait to hear more excellence at the Slug Club dinner party tonight. Can someone remind us why the Draught of Living Death is dangerous?"

Hermione once more raised her hand. But so did Padma and Professor chose her. "The sleeping potion is the most dangerous of sleeping potions because the drinker falls into a deep slumber that can last indefinitely. A known example is Ferdinand Luther who had drank the potion and fell asleep for 461 years."

"471 years," Malfoy corrected under his breath.

"Quite right, Ms Patil but unfortunately the year is wrong. Does anyone know the correct year? Ah yes, Ms Granger?"

"471 years, Sir."

"Correct! Excellent as always…"

Harry gawked internally. This fella did not wake up from his slumber for nearly 500 years after drinking the potion? His eyes drifted to the cauldron on the table and wondered how terrible could this potion be?

In no time, there were to begin the brewing process. Malfoy had slid the list of ingredients and pointed sharply towards the Potions cupboard and he marched off without another word. It was a known fact that Malfoy was superior in Potions, not just to Harry but in their year if not the whole school, as he always achieved straight Os since First Year whereas Hermione was sometimes received an EE and Harry? That was a different story.

He laid the ingredients on the table and was mildly surprised to find the equipment neatly and sharply organized before Malfoy.

"Before we begin, I want to say…" Malfoy chewed on his bottom lip, seemingly having an internal battle with what he wanted to say. "I want to express my deepest gratitude for choosing me to perform The Veil ritual this afternoon."

"No problem!"

Malfoy sputtered. "You still don't understand the magnitude of what you did? You could've called any Pureblood – hell, even Weasley or Longbottom – but you chose me instead. So—thank you."

"Ron and I aren't really talking," he found himself sharing. "And I figured you'd know more about the traditional folklore than Ron would. Also, I don't think I'll ever understand just how rare this is but maybe one day."

"Perhaps."

"What happens now?"

Malfoy began separating the ingredients in the order that they would be put into the cauldron for the brewing. "What do you mean?"

"We have no teacher teaching History of Magic so that leaves the position open."

"Fair point. It'll be interesting to see who shall take the position. Perhaps another ghost?" Malfoy smiled, the same pure and soft smile he had when they were in the 4F classroom earlier today. "Alright, we have all our ingredients ready and we can begin. I want you to take the Sopophorous bean and crash it with a silver – _silver_ , Potter, not grey – dagger."

"Why?"

"It'll make it stronger."

"Why?"

"Because it releases juices more efficiently than simply dumping the bean inside the potion."

"Can I ask another question?" Harry inquired after handing Malfoy a powdered root of asphodel.

"You already did."

"Can I ask another?"

"You just did."

"Malfoy."

"Potter."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Is it true about that guy who slept for nearly 500 years? Like, is it a fact?"

"It is," Malfoy responded, diligently stirring clockwise. "He was unaware of the effects of overdosing on the potion as the drinker is meant to have simply between two to four drops, depending on the health of the drinker, but he had much more and he fell into the deathlike sleep until Joan Columbus invented the counterpotion."

"The couterpotion was not invented?"

Malfoy shook his head. "It was invented because of him."

"What is it?"

"Wiggenweld potion"

In all of Harry's years in Potions classes, he had never come across this particular Potion nor heard of it until today. "Do you know how to brew it?"

Malfoy looked at him as if he were mad and promptly rolled his eyes. That was enough of a response. He stepped back from the potion and motioned for him to come closer. The potion was currently a pale lilac color which, according to the textbook, was the correct color.

"You'll take over from here."

"What? I am terrible at this."

"You won't learn if you simply pass me the ingredients. Besides, what Potions partner would I be if you did not attain at least an EE at the end of it?"

"At least?"

"At least."

"I'm a lost cause, Malfoy. If neither Snape nor Slughorn could do it, nobody will."

"No excuses, Potter. Now add the sloth brain."

He had a stare-off with him, pleading with him to not follow suit with the brewing of the sleeping potion as he most likely would turn it to any other color than the desired one. But Malfoy was stubborn and was gazing back at him with determination and, dare he say, belief? Did Malfoy believe he could be good at Potions, enough to scrape an EE?

Harry wondered if the fumes from the potion had made Malfoy's brain woozy.

He looked down at the neatly arranged ingredients and picked up the sloth brain. A hard clearing of the throat alerted him that he had picked the wrong ingredient. He dropped it and picked up another, no throat clearing, and confidently threw it inside the cauldron.

Professor Slughorn clapped his hands five times, grabbing the attention of the class. "There shall be some changes to the guestlist for my dinner party tonight." Seemingly out of thin air, he produced a long blue parchment that he dramatically waved in the air. "With Headmistress McGonagall's request that we encourage inter-House unity, I shall be adding new students onto my list and dropping others."

As it so happened, Harry himself was amongst those being dropped which caused a murmur of shocked and surprised whispers across the classroom. He wondered if the reason he was dropped was because of his last experience at the Club. He had been searching more about Voldemort's past which he found out that Professor Slughorn himself had taught Voldemort, rather Tom Riddle, about the Horcruxes. He was curious, that was all, but it probably did not warrant him being uninvited from tonight's party.

It was all well and good anyway since he had an appointment with the Mind Healer McGonagall scheduled.

"What are we going to do now? We were meant to question him about Salazar."

"I think it's best this way. He'll be more inclusive to like tell you information without me being there."

"How's that?"

"He's your Head of House so he'll, like, be more willing to convey information freely than if I asked him," he said and for sure, Harry had had a lot of experience with this. "Plus, you can be charming when you want to be."

Malfoy narrowed his eyes at him before he slid the bowl of crashed Sopophorous bean. Harry accepted it and added it to his potion.

"It'll help to know where to start on the angle of Salazar as I cannot seem to find the first step which was his portrait."

"Maybe try a different angle like the location of Salazar's grave. I found out that Godric was buried right here in Hogwarts."

"Maybe the same can be said about Salazar. Stir clockwise."

"What? Why?"

"It'll make the potion stronger."

Harry scanned page 32 of his Potions textbook. "But the book says stir anti-clockwise."

"Yes, but after every seventh anti-clockwise, you shall stir once clockwise then revert to stirring anti-clockwise seven times."

"Okay, alright. I honestly do not understand how you get Os alone in Potions. This is proving hard."

"I don't know how you could stomach long dull periods of History of Magic and yet…"

Harry gave him a side glance then turned back to his Potion, biting his lips from smiling too much. He followed the new instructions from Malfoy and it was about the fourth cycle that the potion changed its color from a lilac color to clear. Harry's jaw dropped in surprise.

"Don't look so shocked!" Malfoy stated. "Did you honestly think you were not going to get it right under my tutelage?"

Harry sheepishly shrugged and Malfoy rolled his eyes at him. He picked up a vial to add the potion into it for examination by the professor.

"Is it safe?" he asked Malfoy.

"Yes. This potion can be used in St Mungo's even."

That was all the information Harry needed. He had tried everything to sleep and if there was anything that was bound to work it would be this Draught. He simply needed to make sure Malfoy was not looking at him to pour himself some, lest he attracted questions from Malfoy as to why he was helping himself to the colorless Draught. It took some work but he coaxed Malfoy to hand the vial over to Professor Slughorn and in that time he speedily picked up a spare vial on the table, poured himself some of the potion and stuffed it inside his pocket.

He made a deal with himself that if the potion would not work tonight then he would go see the Mind Healer. He really did not have troubles, he simply wanted to sleep. He just wanted to shut his eyes and rest, and he would even take back the days when he would have nightmares the whole night because, at least then, he had had some shut-eye.

Seeing as he could not attend Slug Club because he was uninvited and was avoiding his appointment with the Mind Healer, he headed off to Godric's portrait. He tried talking to the lion, attempting to catch its attention but it simply looked at him with wide brown eyes. Its tail would occasionally swish side to side and that was the only indication that the lion could hear him.

Minutes to midnight, Harry had drawn the curtains to his bed and clutched the clear liquid in his hands. He needed to take less than five drops (lest he slept for 500 years)(which sounded like a dream if Harry thought about it because he would be _asleep_ ), he knew the effects of it after casually asking Malfoy more about it on the pretense of taking more notes for his upcoming essay, and he set an alarm to wake him up for breakfast.

He uncorked the bottle, carefully to take less than five drops, put back the cork, and set the potion inside his bedside table and before his head hit the pillow, he fell into a deep slumber.

Sleep came at long last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh ohhhh did harry pay attention in class about dosages?? who knows?? apart from that, this narrative of sleeping will come through in the end, dw, everything will come out eventually. you know them mystery books like agatha christie or shows like sherlock where there are easter eggs but you ignore them cause they're so INSIGNIFICANT... well well well [;
> 
> kudos & comments - even the random ones, too - are HIGHLY WELCOMED with open as i love to read what you think [=
> 
> y'all take care x


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